


Under It All

by RedRidingHood24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Protective Lydia, Romantic Stiles Stilinski, Scott Hugs, Sexual Content, Singing Stiles, Smart Lydia, Strong Female Characters, romantic sex, sleep over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRidingHood24/pseuds/RedRidingHood24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Warning, description contains non-obvious spoilers of season 3B, as does story.)Stiles tends to Lydia in ways he's always dreamed of when she turns to him after Beacon Hills' latest tragedies. Lydia knows that what she's doing is wrong, that she can't keep using him the way she does. She can feel her chest warm up when she see's him. To Lydia, Stiles is like nothing else. Sometimes friends with benefits isn't always what it seems. (Post 3B, includes spoilers of major character deaths in last season.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Fool

**Preface**

 

                **Stiles’ POV**

 

 

                She blooms in the morning like a new flower. Her hair is tied together with black bands that struggle around the thickness of her orange locks. Her voice sounds different when we lay side by side, connected by fingers ad wraps of legs and arms. It’s raspy and low and I know how her lips must look. She doesn’t say anything, just turns over with me and spreads out along my body. My hand dips beneath the blanket to linger on her stomach. I start on the rise of her hip, slowly gliding down into the low valley that is her waist. My fingertips barely touch the soft hairs that stand as her body creates little bumps of chilled skin. My fingers crawl up between her breasts and I plant a kiss on her uncovered shoulder. A louder breath comes from her nose as my arm squeezes her tighter to the bed. She turns her head back to me; gently touching her tongue to my lips as she breathes smoothly. I’m grazing each teardrop shaped breast when she tilts her face into mine. We don’t have much energy, but we press into it with each kiss.

                How many victims have Lydia Martin claimed since Aiden’s death? Maybe just me. And I’m not sure I mind.

 

**Chapter 1**

               

**Lydia’s POV**

 

 

                The slow gracing of my fingers on the table helped me keep beat of the conversation. It helped me think quickly, sharply, shooting out answers to every question that left their mouths. I’m still groggy. I always am after Sunday nights. My hair is still neat and I’m dressed in pressed clothes that match exactly how I want them to. I won’t ever slip up, even on Monday mornings.

                I sit at a round table in the cafeteria with Danny and a few others mixed of boys and girls. We pass a sheet around, solving practice math problems, grading them. Sometimes when our teacher has too much to do, her more advanced students correct assignments and distribute help and grades. Danny and I usually split the work when no one else volunteers. To be honest, it’s almost fun for me.

                Stiles dropped me off at seven this morning. He has been for weeks. After Allison’s funeral, we all started staying very close to one another. Scott would bunk at Derek’s and sometimes at Kira’s. We all sort of needed a tether. We still do. There’s always a pinch in my throat when I think about her. When I think about her strength to overcome her weaknesses. She made it seem like she didn’t have any at all.

                There are many comforts I turned to. Stiles, being one of them.

                “Lydia…next one,” Danny urges for me to pass the current worksheet. I hand it over and stand up to go to the bathroom. I pull out my phone and scroll through the numbers until I find what I’m looking for.

                It rings a few times before I get an answer. He sounds scrambled when he speaks.

                “Tonight?” I ask.              

                “Yeah, sure, absolutely,” he confirms more times than needed.

                “See you at six? Your house?”

                “See you then.”

                I hang up and go through my day, strutting in the halls with my mask on, hiding the hurt I feel in the crook of my chest when I touch a hand to Allison’s locker. It belongs to hundreds of letters now. Letters from students who were charmed by her, who barely knew her, who loved how she smiled with all of her teeth. She was a beautiful life to be lost, something extraordinary that I never thought I’d buy into. But I did, and I still am.

                “Hey! Lydia…” Stiles bounds over, touching the people he runs into on the shoulder to apologize. “Hey,” he breathes deeper when he reaches me. His hand goes up a few times to skim my sleeve as he is unsure if he should touch me. Truth is, I’m just as unsure as he is. He does what he always does; puts his palm to my back, lets up, and compliments my outfit. It’s what everyone does, but Stiles does it differently somehow. I feel his grip more clearly than any others.

                “How are you?” The simplest questions feel so forced, so fake. I don’t usually force anything with Stiles, but he’s fragile in some ways. I don’t really want to know how he is. I want to touch his stupid red jacket, tell him his hair makes him look like a porcupine, and smell his simple soap. His ‘no cologne’ smell makes everything so easy. It doesn’t stick to your clothes like anything else does, it doesn’t make it hard to breathe when you’re under him, and it doesn’t put anything into your head. As much as you’d like it to be, it’s not a manipulative scent.  Every part of him is simple and clinical.

                “Irritated. Just got out of Econ.”

He follows me to my locker, making sure to keep a distance. I don’t know what boundaries to set with him. We aren’t really anything other than what we were months ago. We’re Stiles and Lydia. There’s nothing other than the fact that we hook up now. It’s how it was with Jackson and Aiden, in less casual settings. Everyone needs a physical outlet. But I say it anyway. “You don’t need to act like we don’t have sex.” I look straight at him. I know he’s thinking about how he doesn’t want to objectify me and the way he wants to tell me that. But he’s not stupid, and that’s why he knows that if he does, it will sound more like feelings and less like friends with benefits.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe I _am_ cold blooded. But Stiles understands how I work, how I get what I need. And he’s not a fool.


	2. Smile, Allison

Lydia’s POV

 

                Day turns to night slowly and seamlessly as I fix my hair behind my ears. I always leave it down when I go to Stiles’. He puts it behind my ears every time so I do it before I leave and make sure it stays there. For some reason, that and forehead kisses feel more intimate than is tongue in my mouth. I take a quick look in the mirror before I grab my bag. A blue blouse and leather zip-up skirt wrap around my body. I don’t know why I bother wearing anything nice when it will be taken off soon after, but it’s just a routine. It feels more like an appointment this way. It’s an abusive tendency, I know, but he wouldn’t agree to it if he couldn’t handle it, and neither would I.

                The ride over is always filled with my favorite music to put me in a good mood. Stiles is always happy when he’s relaxed at home, so I can at least try for him. I’ve been dull for months and everything I do is just another attempt at perking myself back up. I used to spend nights in Allison’s room, plucking the string of her bow, wearing her clothes that Chris hadn’t packed up yet, and sleeping under her blankets like they were he arms. I stopped when I realized that it was only destructive. From reading to spending days at the loft, everything just feels like a waste of time. I turn to men that work their way into my life more often than I should. They make it so easy to forget, though. Jackson, Aiden, so many others, and Stiles. Putting time and thought into all of them takes time away from other, more intimidating things. I don’t fear men and that’s what makes them so easy.

                The sheriff’s car isn’t in the driveway, so I pull up instead of parking on the street. He’s at the door waiting when I step out of my car. I’m sure he saw the silver flash through one of the windows so he knew to come out. “Hey,” Stiles says, not bothering to keep his distance from me. He’s never shy on these nights and I’m glad for that. When I want to forget is when I want to be handled without hesitance.

                “Have you studied for the prerequisite yet?” I make conversation. Don’t get me wrong, Stiles and I are close friends now, but the friendly closeness is strictly for when we aren’t about to take our clothes off. I hear a _swish swish_ in the background of the sounds of his room and the washing machine across the hall. It’s the sound of something swinging through the air in a swift chop. I don’t feel the push I normally do coming up my body and taking up space in my throat, so I put it away.

                “No, not really. I’ll do fine, though. It’s never that difficult to remember what we learned last year.” I agree with him when I place my bags and shoes in their usual locations. In the back of my mind I know I sit them in areas I’ll always be able to see; a reminder that this is a short visit. “Try to smile,” Stiles speaks softly behind me, gently gripping my tightened shoulders and kneading back and forth. I think of something I used to tell Allison _. Someone could be falling in love with your smile._ I don’t fake it. My lips push my cheeks up into small blushed puffs. Allison dimpled with whatever face she was making, and I was always jealous of that. I can’t say I never tried.

                I never understood the ban on kissing during hook-ups. They are for pleasure, not resistance. Shaky breaths are the first things to happen. Slight suckles in the crook of my neck release the tension in my spine along with the rolling of the muscles in my hips. I turn towards him and look up. He’s much taller than me when I don’t have shoes on. Our eyelashes brush the cheeks of the other when he leans down. The high points of his face are always slightly cold. The turn-up of his nose, the deep cupid’s bow of his lip, and the tips of his ears when I wrap my hands around his neck. Every time I feel myself let go of the intimacy barriers. He’s always broken them. He destroyed them long ago with the touching and the way his eyebrows pull in. I’m like a boat being pushed in and out in the ocean, leaning and wading when his lazy lips pull and press on mine, slightly dewy and smooth. I hear the creak of his desk as he presses his body into mine.

                I remove his shirt and immediately place my hands on his chest. They press hard into the muscle, over the tops of his shoulders and around to the back of his ribs. He’s solid and easy to grip onto. He’s lean and I would say that his form reminds me of Jackson, but even if I close my eyes, I could feel the difference in his waist, the longer and straighter structure of his entire figure. His force is different as well. Stiles is more of a heating pressure while Jackson was an angry energy, fervent where Stiles is needy.

                I craved Aiden’s alpha status, his power and the danger that came with it. My desire for Stiles lies purely in his humanity, his fragile mind and his normalcy. He smiles when he tugs the zipper of my skirt, apologizing for it when it gets stuck in the middle.

 

                It’s all off now. The clothes, the blankets, everything that acts as camouflage. I don’t want to tell him how much I like his clumsy hands. He always knows what to do with his lips, though. When they aren’t on my mouth they’re on my neck or my chest or legs, nipping and warming everything up. I never have any idea how long it takes us, but when it’s over, I lose it. I break and he squeezes me together. It’s such an emotional release, what you’re working towards the entire night that you finally reach, and it’s only once.

                It goes like this: a buzzing in my ears, wet cheeks, and the rumbling washing machine not too far away. There’s nothing to lose when Stiles and I are tightly enclosed in his room, warm and cold and not saying a word.

                Night after night we go through my routine. He gives me what no one else has ever given me, my body wells up with everything I’d been pushing away, and he absorbs the remnants of all of those things that escape through my eyes. He takes it away, if only for a few hours.

                I know Stiles concentrates on me when we have sex. The touches are barely for him. I can see that he puts away his rougher urges. Being connected in such a private way is almost a reading of the mind. He only says “Lydia” a few times because he thinks I don’t like it. But I need it. I work for it. I would give everything to hear how he’s really feeling, what he really wants from me, how much he wants to let go. I’ve never had selflessness like his. And I’m not about to put him down for it.

               

                “I’ll see you soon,” he says when he leans over me to switch the lamp off. I feel him press his face into my hair as our bodies relax. I ignore the bags sitting in the corner. I’ll stay as long as I like.

                “Goodnight, Stiles.”

               

 

               


	3. Freckles On Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone, for reading! How are you liking Season 4? I’m really loving it. It’s giving me those Season 1 Sciles feels (: Also, the song included in this chapter is My Body by Young the Giant. Please review!)

(Lydia’s POV)

 

                I see Allison’s arm pull back with the strength it took to prepare the pressure that would shoot from the bow. I know she’s whispering the code to herself. _We protect those who cannot protect themselves._ When she lets go, the sword separates her lungs.

                “Lydia.” I wake, gasping, tightening my fingers on Stiles’ arm. “Lydia,” he says again, a little more worried. He’s already dressed and his hair is damp from a shower. “You okay?” I nod and let my neck relax, my head pressing into the pillow. “Scott texted. He wants us to meet at the loft. Do you want to take a shower first?” I decide not to and just pull my hair up into a bun, seeing as I didn’t bring any styling tools.

                “Why does he want us at the loft? Is something wrong?” I ask while I search around for the clothes I wore last night.

                “No. Derek just wants to give us new keys. There have been a few break-ins in the building so it’s just for safety.” I never really use my key anymore since the door’s just been open for us after everything happened. It was good for us; the ones who just migrated there, who needed the comfort of a pack.

                I find my skirt lying next to Stiles’ hamper by the door. In the hamper, I see a pair of shark pajama pants. I take a mental note to make a surprise visit so I can see him wearing them. He’s eyeing me. His head moves slightly with each step I take around his room. I still don’t have any clothes on even though I’ve found them all. Seeing as how I’ve never been on top with Stiles, I don’t think he’s ever seen me full-frontal without clothes. “What were you dreaming about?” He asks as I tuck my top into my skirt.

                “Allison.” I leave it at that. He doesn’t ask what happened or why I woke up so flustered, and I’m glad.

                “I like the freckles on your back,” he says.

                “Thanks. I never noticed them.” I dismiss it as a normal, everyday compliment, but then I turn. He’s sitting on his bed, hands clasped together as he leans on his arms against his thighs. And it’s his face that sends the comment from my brain to my chest. I feel the pinch in my stomach, the need to swallow the lump in my throat. His face is looking up from a lowered neck. A half smile pulls up one side of his pink lips. They’re almost the color of his skin. Everything about his face reads as shy. His bottom lids squeeze up a little, making his eyes shine under the sunlight. He rubs his hands together nervously and looks away from me.

                “Stiles.” I just say it and he doesn’t reply. I wasn’t looking for a response anyway. I just wanted to say it, to let it roll over my tongue, to address him and recognize the sincerity in his expression.

                “We should get going,” he says after I’m dressed and have fixed my makeup.

               

                I strap myself into Stiles’ jeep when he starts it up. “Do you miss her?” I ask him, wondering if anyone else has.

                “Do I miss…who? Allison?” I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do. I never really knew her, well, as good as you did. But…I miss her very much. And I miss her for Scott.” There’s silence for a while until he finally speaks again. “You’re gonna miss her forever, aren’t you?” I nod and look ahead, trying not to think about how long forever is. “And…and Aiden?” I nod again. Both of them took so much of my heart with them. I remember Derek’s hands on my shoulders, wide but soft in his touch. I remember him telling me how Aiden died. How he died in good intentions, hoping I would know. I thank Aiden every day for that. I can’t imagine how it would be, dying bitter.

                “So, I take it we’re skipping school today.”

                “Yeah. I would have let you sleep in anyway. You didn’t have anything important today, did you? I mean, we can still go after we get our keys if you want. I know Kira is-“

                “It’s fine. I could use a day off anyway.” Danny and I finished all of our math work yesterday, so there’s nothing left really for us to do this week. “Do you know you talk in your sleep?” I try to change the subject. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to explain. “I’m kidding.”

                “Holy God, why? Why would you?” He squints and shakes his head. Soon, Stiles turns on the radio. It’s an upbeat song. The sounds of hands smacking the steering wheel fill the jeep. He sings along, totally tone deaf but loving the release all the same. “ _My body tell me no, but I won’t quit, ‘cause I want more. ‘Cause I want more!”_ His eyebrows pull together as he shakes his head and “oooo’s” along with the song. I let out a laugh and press my head to the back of my seat. A chuckle comes out while he sings and I feel a shock go through my arms and legs and it’s the most wonderful fuzzy feeling. Better than the times I cheered on with the crowd while the Cyclones carried the captains around the field in celebration after the win. Better than riding the escalators with Allison and my mom on my big birthday shopping spree. Even better than taking off my shoes and running through the woods with Scott, pretending I was as fast as he was.

                “Beautiful, Stiles. Just beautiful.”

                “Tell me something I don’t know.”

                I roll my eyes and he goes on with his performance. His window is half down so his hair is flying all over the place, leaving red marks on his forehead. He looks crazed. The good kind, the healthy kind. I crack a smile.

                I notice he’s a little quieter and is peering at me. “Is that a smile? I see it!” He sings though the last chorus and the song plays out, almost finished. “Are you happy, Lydia Martin? Because I swear to God, I will do literally anything.” He laughs and I’m feeling fuzzy again.

                “I know.” I smile, this time with my lips closed, and touch his arm. Stiles continues to bob his head and tap along to the next few tracks. We don’t speak or sing. Stiles pulls onto the ramp at the apartments, next to Scott’s dirt bike. Both Scott and Kira’s helmets are dangling from the handles.

                The door is unlocked and slides open with a few tugs. Peter is lounging on the couch in the sunlight that takes up the entire widow, stretching from floor to ceiling. “Hey, buddy,” Stiles says to Scott when I take a spot next to Kira at the table. She’s wearing the new skirt she bought last week when I asked her to go to the mall with me. It was nice, just us. Girl time is always easy, and Kira makes it even easier. I’d connected with Scott in a snap, and they’re so similar, it was like I already knew her. There’s also the fact that I needed to fill a void with someone that reminded me of my best friend. I hope she doesn’t mind.

                I haven’t told Kira about my nights with Stiles and I don’t think he’s told Scott. We both know what they would say. We know they’d disapprove. Them not knowing doesn’t stop the strange looks they give when Stiles pulls a hair away from my face. They notice when I don’t resist his touch like I used to. I’m becoming too lenient.

                Derek passes a zip-lock bag of keys around the table. Each of them is capped with blue. I take one and slip it in a small pocket of my purse. “Want to come over tonight?” Kira asks. I’d considered another night at Stiles’, but I know we should spend some time apart.

                “Yeah,” I breathe. “What time?”

                “Maybe around seven? You can have dinner with us if you want.” I nod. Mr. Yukimura is a wonderful cook. It’s nice having a homemade meal. My parents are always working, so I’m usually stuck making whatever I can find in the fridge.

                Before long, Kira and Scott have to leave. She can’t miss her father’s class. I think of what Stiles might have planned for our day off. Just as I wonder, he comes over to me. He points his thumb toward the door. “You ready?” When he says it, Scott continues to us after he leaves Derek and Peter and gives me a loose hug.

                “See you later, Lyds.” Scott leaves with Kira under his arm and I turn to Stiles.

                “You know, I just remembered. I made a promise to Danny that I’d help him with some grading. Do you think we could just go to school?”


	4. It Was About Werewolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter is a little shorter than normal but I promise the next one will be longer. My sister had a baby this week so a bunch of time was taken up sitting in the hospital waiting room without a notebook but luckily I had time tonight (: I hope you like this little sleepover! Please review!

So far, the night seems as though it will begin and end with me wearing clothes. I unzip my overnight bag, pushing out the edges to make room. I’ll take my purse, too, for makeup, but I also have to take my books for school in the morning. My choice will probably be a lilac night gown I bought a week ago but haven’t worn yet. Fuzzy flip-flop slippers go on top of the gown in the bag. The grey wedges I’ve picked for tomorrow are snuggled in the left nook of my bag, right beside a blue polka-dot skirt and a white pinstripe blouse. Button up blouses have been a common choice for me lately. They’re crisp and clean and easy to pair with almost anything.

                Stiles had brought me back here and waited for me to shower and change before we went to school. I’d put my hair in a shower cap while I was washing up so I could keep it as is and save time. It’s easy to leave it down when I’d be pulling it up in a ponytail at Kira’s anyway. No need for complex braids or twists or bobby pins. We’d both gone about our normal schedules, Stiles and I. He didn’t ask about Danny and homework or if I wanted to do something tonight even though I knew he hadn’t overheard Kira asking me over. We sat together at lunch along with Scott and a few others, but didn’t speak much, and I’m sure Scott noticed. Kira was in yearbook; otherwise I’d have chatted with her. I wonder if she’s tired of me yet.

                After my bag is packed, I slip on the cut-out heels I wore today and took off at the door. My car sits in the driveway, no other cars around it. It would be just me tonight, as it always is, if it weren’t for me going to Kira’s. The Yukimura’s eat dinner around seven, so I make sure I’m punctual.

                “Hey Lydia,” Kira smiles when she opens the door for me. Her parents are carrying hot dishes to the center of the long table in the dining room.

                “Glad you could join us tonight, Lydia,” Mr. Yukimura looks up from carefully setting a serving bowl of lima beans on a potholder. “It’s always fun trying my recipes out on guests.” The excitement on his face was priceless.

                “I’m looking forward to it.” I sit beside Kira, the cushion on the chair squishing under my weight. Mr. Yukimura adds a plate of chicken to the table, finishing the set up. It’s wrapped in bacon and what looks like sour cream is slipping out of the sides. “How do you come up with all of these recipes, Mr. Yukimura?”

                “I watch the Food Network on my phone between classes.” He smiles brightly and leans forward to slide his chair beneath him. When Kira’s father loves something, he _loves_ it. Whether it is the World War or cooking, it gets his full attention.

                I fill my plate. Lima beans take up a fourth of the plate, then two pieces of chicken, parsley and sour cream coating the area around them, and parsley red potatoes soaked in butter to fill up the rest of my plate. I’m in heaven. This beats a frozen pizza any day. “It’s amazing, Mr. Yukimura,” I say between mouthfuls.

                Kira’s parents chuckle. “You’re welcome here anytime, Lydia,” Noshiko says. I smile and dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin, keeping my lipstick perfect.

                After we’re finished eating, Kira and I head up to her room. She turns a small light on beside her bed, and two push lights that stick to her walls. “Let’s get comfy,” she sighs with relief. We’re both eager to get out of our tight outfits. We peel our skirts off, which are comfortable but limiting, and then our tops and bras. It’s always a good feeling to lose your bra after wearing it all day. I slip on my purple nightgown, then my slippers. Kira does the same but keeps her sock feet and substitutes a gown for a pair of shorts with coffee cups on them and a tank top that says “Stay Cool,” with a smiling ice cube underneath it. I use her bathroom to remove my makeup and return to her bedroom. With Kira, I don’t worry about the red that splotches on the sides of my nose or the darkness that collects underneath my eyes without my concealer. It’s nice to not care.

                “So, spill,” I say to her, bouncing on her bed to land on my stomach, propping my face up with my hands.

                “Spill what?” She asks, eyes open wide.

                “Scott.” My hands sprawl out in front of me on the comforter.

                “Oh, well, there’s…there’s really nothing to spill.” I give her a look, my eyebrow raising and saying ‘ _come on_.’ “We kiss but…I don’t know…we haven’t even gone on a date.”

                “You’re never going to go _out_ with Scott. He’s an alpha werewolf, he doesn’t think about dates. He and…he and Allison never went anywhere. They tried dinner and a drive-in movie…didn’t end well.” I think of the night Allison came home from the movie and called me. ‘ _It was about werewolves,’_ she said, ‘ _Scott complained about factual accuracy the whole time.’_

                I just wish he’d hold hands with me in school. Make it public, you know?”

                “Scott may be an alpha, but when it comes to girls, he’s a helpless puppy.” I roll my eyes. Kira looks a little more clued in than she was, but still a little frustrated.

                “Can I ask it?”

                “Ask what?” There’s a troubling twinkle in her eye.

                “It,” is all she says.

                “Depends.”

                “Well, I’m going to ask anyway.” I prepare myself, but I know I won’t know what to say exactly. “What’s going on with you and Stiles?” She looks totally lost, absolutely needing information.

                “We hang out.” She doesn’t press. I’m not sure she put it together, but if she did, she knows my reasons. She’s lonely too.

                We talk for a while, but when we get tired, we pile up pillows against her headboard to watch a movie. In the dim flashing light of the TV, I inspect my ensemble. This is a nice gown, and the money I spent on it says so. It comes down into a V with a satin neckline, the rest made of a soft fabric that hugs me but doesn’t strangle. Even without a bra, the cleavage it gives me is impressive and soft. All I can think of is how much I wish Stiles could see me in it. And then I think of how much I want to see him in _his_ pajamas.

                I start to get drowsy, and before too long, I’m sliding down beneath the blanket.

                I don’t dream tonight. There’s no Allison, no Stiles, no nothing. Just blackness and the smell of Kira’s perfume beside me.

 

                In the morning, we get dressed and ride to school in my car. “I’ll see you later.”

                “Lunch,” Kira says and smiles as she skips her way to her locker.

                My phone beeps and buzzes with a text. It’s almost time for me to turn it off for class, so I pull it out and check it before going into the room. “Doing anything tonight?” It reads. Stiles’ name ticks back and forth across the top of the screen.

                “Nope,” I text back, because I’m not. I don’t add a winky face and neither does he.

                I take lazy notes throughout my psychology class, picking over the idea of spending the night with Stiles or actually spending one at home.

                “Lydia,” a deep and scratchy voice says behind me after class. I turn away from my locker and see Max. Max from the basketball team. Tall, lean, and golden with California sun. “Movie tonight? Unless you’re busy…”

                I push my shiny lips to the side. “Nope. Not busy,” I answer back, because I’m not.

               


	5. North and Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you! There were a lot of inspirations for this chapter. The first inspiration for the breakfast portion of this chapter is a part in Maggie Stiefvater’s : Sinner. The second is a tea by Meg Daunting on Tumblr, Society6, and Adagio Teas. The tea that Lydia is drinking is inspired by her tea called Ginger Fabulous. I tried it this week and it was delicious! The last inspiration is a story by IrisstoneHPfan on Fanfiction.net. Her story is called “coffee washed in black” and it made me a little obsessed with writing coffee-shop AU’s and I don’t think I can survive without them now so thanks so much, Iris. (PS. If you’re reading this, update update update please dear lord.) One more thing before I continue into the chapter, do any of you guys like the Divergent series? To celebrate it coming out on DVD, I was thinking of writing something for it. Would anybody be into that? It would be a Four/Tris ship. Let me know please! Thank you for reading!

Max is asleep in my bed. I want him out. The bottom of the sheet is already pulled up over the corner of the mattress and half of my throw pillows are all over the floor. But, I’ll be polite and this is the last time. I shouldn’t complain. After all, I _did_ invite him here. They usually come here anyway because it’s less trouble; no parents home, clean, and there’s a discrete exit at the back of the house.

                The edge of my bed makes no sound when I sit on the edge of it and reach for my phone on the bedside table. **Dad and I are getting Chinese. Wanna join?** A text from Stiles entered my phone at 8:17 p.m. Max and I were at the theater not watching the movie. I’d put my phone on silent. He’s probably wondering why I didn’t reply. Or maybe he’s not. But I do anyway.

                **Sorry phone was off** , I reply. I hesitate after he messages back. When I feel Max shuffle around in the bed, I start typing again. **Got leftovers?** Send.

 

Stiles POV

 

                “Please tell me you didn’t eat it all,” I tell my dad before he leaves.

                “Nope. There’s still some Lo Mein in there.” I sigh in relief. “See ya, bud.” Dad salutes me when he closes the door. It’s a teacher work day so we have no school. I’m thankful for it because I’ve been so swamped with Calculus work; I haven’t had time to do it. Lydia’s coming over, so that will be a distraction, but I’ll see what I can do.

                I start by washing the few dishes that are in the sink even though we will be making more dirty dishes. Next, I pull out a frying pan from the cupboard underneath the microwave. I plop the leftover Lo Mein in the pan along with a little water and heat it up. When the noodles are hot and saucy again, I add some leftover chicken pieces and broccoli I soaked in soy sauce. It’s not exactly a gourmet breakfast, but it’s something. She said she’d get dressed and come over, so I may have just enough time to search the basement for some candlesticks.

                               

Lydia’s POV

 

                “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Max says to me while he puts his jacket on. He doesn’t bother fixing the bed or help me fold my clothes he threw on the floor. I’m in a fluffy white bath robe since I’ve already taken a quick shower and reapplied my makeup.

                “Yeah,” I dismiss him easily. Max stops at the door and directs his eyes back to me. His tongue rubs across his bottom teeth.

                “That was fun last night.” When he says it, it sounds like ‘good game.’ I know he doesn’t mean the movie. I nod to him, but I don’t feel the same way. It wasn’t fun, it was boring. He’d had the dullest look on his face the entire time I was on top of him. I’m pretty sure Danny would have been more enthusiastic to have sex with me, and I don’t even have the goodies Danny’s looking for.

                _“Lydia,” Max said for the millionth time. He looked frustrated, but his “Oh yeah’s” said different. “You’re so freaking hot.” By this time, I kept my eyes shut. I held onto his shoulder and his stomach to keep balanced but it didn’t feel right. He felt too stiff, too concentrated on performing. It’s really cold up here. My legs are like ice cubes without the blanket. He’s gripping my hips too hard with the pads of his fingers. I miss the tiny scratches Stiles leaves along the sides of my bottom, delicate pink lines that blend away with my skin after a few minutes. Max’s growls are nothing like Stiles’ sighs, and they remind me too much of Aiden._

                I almost expect him to high five me but he turns out of the door and shuts it too loudly behind him. I secretly curse the entire Beacon Hills basketball team, as if my Banshee powers were Voodoo.

                I never invite Stiles here, or any of the pack, really. Not even Kira. It’s my safe place; a quiet haven without voices to pluck out of strings or energy brought from the supernatural world. I hear the voices in his room, less now that he’s taken most of his sting down, but I still hear them. I would never let that come here, let him bring any of it with him. It would feel almost like…contamination.

                I push open my closet doors. I already know what I want to wear today. The carpet feels soft and clean on my knees when I bend down. “Lydia! It’s us!” I hear the front door shut. My mom. I reach over to lock my door before I get out the shoe box hidden underneath three pairs of flats.

                It’s wrapped in a plain brown paper, the lid wrapped separately so it can slide off. I do so carefully, and remove the tissue paper that coats the top. There they are, folded perfectly, never washed and wrinkle free. A blue V-neck. Aiden’s. It’s a little ripped around the sewn neckline from a scuff, but it’s the way it will stay. It belonged to one of the good guys. It smells strongly of wolf, of men. Beside it lies a dark grey-blue slip dress. I haven’t unfolded it, but I know how the embroidering goes from the neckline to the hem-line. Its spaghetti straps are perfect to be worn under a sweater. I know it’s shorter in the front than it is in the back. The sweet-pea smell of it almost covers the aroma of Aiden totally. I don’t have the boots she paired with it, but at least I’ll smell her all day. The perfume bottle Chris gave me is in the corner of the box. There’s only a little left and I use some of it on my neck. Its green bottle is an orb of clear liquid, the sprayer one of those real ones with the squeezable ball. “It was her favorite,” Chris said when I recognized the scent. She wore it rarely.  The smell is so _womanly_. The two sides of the box are infinitely different; yin and yang.

                I think for a minute about my upcoming breakfast. I don’t want to get anything on this dress. I decide on my own black floral skirt and a pink t-shirt to tuck in. I accessorize with a few gold rings on my pointer finger and a gold necklace with a coin on the end. I don’t bother packing a bag.

 

Stiles POV

 

                I take Lydia’s jacket at the door. It’s green fabric hangs alongside my favorite red hoodie on the coat rack. I want to reach over and touch her legs when she bends slightly to undo the buckles on her short heels. They’re probably incredibly smooth as always, even though I would still like them a lot if they weren’t. White as cream and a few freckles behind her knees are accompanied by a few pink stretch marks on either side. I could stare at her all day, studying only her limbs. It might be the way they disappear underneath her skirts, curving slightly on the front of her thighs with muscle. One of my favorite things about them is the little wrinkled scars on her knees, probably from childhood games and accidents. I bet she didn’t cry when she got them.

                “You’ve really outdone yourself, Stilinski.” Lydia winks. I decide to pull out her chair and she looks at me a little strange, but sits.

                “I can makes eggs or something if you-“

                “No.” That’s all it takes.

 

                The way I watch her is probably the same way a dog watches it’s owner eat: completely pathetic and sad. And it’s not even the way she swirls the noodles on her fork or how they go into her mouth; it’s how she’s so focused on it. “This is good,” she says. “Almost better than Mr. Yukimura’s cooking.” This sparks a conversation point.

                “Is that what you did at Kira’s?” Scott was at my house that night, bummed that he couldn’t be at Kira’s house because Lydia was there. “What did he make?” She smiles.

                “Parsley potatoes and chicken.” I’ve known Lydia long enough to know for a fact that she loves home cooked food. This is take-out but seemingly I’ve customized it enough.

                “What did you guys talk about?” I raise my eyebrows, curious if it was me, and take a bite of my chicken and a piece of broccoli.

                “Mostly Scott.” I still haven’t told Scott about our nightly endeavors, so I accept that she probably hasn’t mentioned it to Kira either. Lydia pops a bite of saucy chicken in her mouth and a moan/sigh rumbles her throat softly and my heart flutters. My fingers twitch around my fork and I have to take a small sip of my drink.

                After a little silence, Lydia says something first. “Did you have fun with your dad?” She knows I don’t get to spend much time with him anymore, what with him having a jumpstart on solving crimes of the county since he’s learned more about the citizens and their supernatural tendencies.

                “Yeah. I let him cheat on is healthy lifestyle.” I chuckle a little.

                “You mean you let you cheat on forcing him into the healthy lifestyle.” Her eyes glance up to me.

                “Maybe.” We finish up eating and I’m not really sure what to do next. It should be an easy decision. Take her out to coffee, bring her back here, snuggle up on the couch and watch a few TV shows. That’s what I would love to do, but that doesn’t mean she’ll say yes. Was this a date?

                “It’s a long day without school so do you want to…maybe…coffee?” I nod too much.

                We take Lydia’s car. We pull into Nate’s Coffee and Dessert on the corner of North and Honey Avenue cross-streets. Lydia orders a peach and ginger oolong tea, putting one scoop of sugar and a shot of clover honey in the cup. I get a basic peppermint mocha coffee. It’s nothing special and tastes eerily similar to Maxwell House. “What about you? What did you do last night?” I wondered why her phone was off, not that it was really any of my business.

                She hesitates. “Uh I went to a movie with Max Kohl.” Lydia doesn’t say what happened after the movie, so I’m left wondering.

                “Basketball Max? Of Mice and Men-Is-A-Too-Long-Book-Max?” He failed English last year.

                “Yeah.” She fidgets. I feel a tick in my chest and the need to grip my cup harder. I’m trying not to assume anything went farther than a movie and some popcorn but the thought of her even-.

I breathe.

She’s not mine.

                I try to enjoy my coffee along with her but it’s biting at me. And it’s not just Max, it’s how much I want to hold her hand, how much I want to throw everything off of this table, stand on it, and tell every coffee sipper in this shop that I’m head over heels for Lydia Martin.

                “There’s a game this Friday,” I tell her. She most likely read about it on the school website, but I feel like I just need to confirm it.

                “I’ll be there.” She places her hands on both sides of her mug. I’m not sure if she’ll be there for Kira or Scott or…me.

 

               


	6. Ride More Cowboys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I decided I’d take some extra time and make this chapter a little longer than usual. It’s a bit happier too. And there’s a small Fault In Our Stars reference in there (; Hope you enjoy!

(Stiles’ POV)

                Lydia drops me off at Scott’s after coffee. I gave her a kiss on the cheek before I got out. I don’t know how she took it, but I don’t really care. I wanted it for me; to have something to think about before I go to sleep. Gravel crunches under my shoes as I trudge up to his front door. I pull my key out of my wallet and turn it in the doorknob. A gasp comes from the house when I swing the door open. Melissa stands near the staircase, poised with a bat clenched between her small hands. “Again? Really? God, Stiles. Who gave you a key? Don’t answer that…” I have to respect her choice in weaponry.

                Melissa is already in her scrubs and she readies herself with her purse to go out the door. I stop her before she exits. “Wait, Melissa.” I open up a wrapped container I brought in with me. A cold turkey sandwich sits surrounded by a mound of potato chips. I grabbed it from the deli beside the coffee shop, knowing she’d forget to pack herself dinner. “In case you didn’t want to eat cafeteria food.”

                “Thank you, honey.” Endearing wrinkles crinkle her dark eyes when she smiles and pecks me on the forehead. She has to stand on her tip-toes now. She didn’t have to do that when I was a kid.

                I take on the stairs to go to Scott’s room. “Hey, man. Did you drive over?” Scott flicks open one of his blinds to look out the window to the driveway.

                “Lydia dropped me off.”

                “Oh.” He nods once and goes over to his dresser. “Here. Get comfortable.” Scott hands me a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. I switch clothes. He’s already in pajamas. “You usually text before you come over. Everything okay?” I nod and he zips a sweatshirt on and offers me one but I decline.

                “Yeah. Well, no, I guess it isn’t. Not really.” We take spots on the floor and I lie down on my back. His listening face is on.

“Does it have to do with Lydia? You guys have been sending a lot of time together. Like more than the amount of time Kira and I spend together.” Scott thins his lips.

                “We’ve been sort of…hooking up.” Scott’s eyebrows turn down. He knows I’m not the type to ‘hook up.’ He also knows it’s not the time for a high five.

                “What do you mean?” He scoots back to lean against the foot of his bed.

                “She’s been really upset about…Allison.” Scott’s face softens at the name. “So she comes over a few nights a week and I try to help her let some of it go. You know? She just needs somebody and now it’s my turn and Scott, I don’t know if that’s really selfish of me but this is my first chance with Lydia and I’m just…I’m so grateful that she… she picked me, man.” I throw my hands up and let them fall to my sides. I make a noise with my throat, totally in disbelief that _she turned to me._

                “Stiles, I don’t want to hurt you but…she’s kind of using you. I know she’s not meaning to but that’s what’s happening.”

                “That just it. I don’t mind, Scott. I don’t know if it’s like a virginity thing or what but I really just want to be there for her all the damn time. It’s to the point where she could call me to lie down in a mud puddle just so she could use my body like a bridge to walk across it and I would probably enjoy it.” I check my phone quickly; a reflex. Scott puts his head down and gives a slight chuckle.

                “God it’s the way she…she looks at me, Scott.” My eyes squint. “It’s like I’m literally in a trance when she looks the way she does. She’s been wearing that blue shirt that you _know_ I love,” I assure him. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, like last week when she came over, and she’s there, completely naked under _my_ blankets and there are these brown freckles all over her back,” I ramble. “I get to see her when her hair is messy and all I can think is ‘Lydia Martin is in my bed.’ But then she’ll actually _touch_ me and then I know that she’s just Lydia. And she’s not just beautiful on the outside. She _says_ beautiful things.” I think about her green eyes, her face beneath mine. “And when we’re…” I trail off. “It’s the way she…” The way she _cries._ They’re silent and sweet and full of sadness and drunkenness of sleepy sex. “But I don’t mind.”

                I take a breath. Scott’s smiling. I know what he’s thinking **. Lydia Martin will always get what she wants**. And I smile at that too. “I just don’t know how to get her out of this cycle.”

                “Make her happy.” It’s all he says before he stands up. Scott runs his hand over the top of my head, smoothing my spikey hair. What a dad. “Food?”

                “Food.” I can’t resist the reference. “Maybe food will be our always.” The famous Scott McCall eye roll, ladies and gentlemen.

 

                Scott and I cook up macaroni and cheese. I cringe when he says “mom’s recipe.” Melissa in the kitchen? But it’s surprisingly very good. Elbow macaroni mixed with a big block of Velveeta and milk: perfect.

                We select an episode of Full House and pile on the couch, using each other as leg and bowl rests while we eat. “I miss this,” I say. “Hanging out, just us.”

                “Me too.” Scott nudges my side with his elbow.

                We finish two more episodes of Full House and switch to Friends. “What ever happened to David Schwimmer? He’s still alive, right?” I shove a handful of popcorn in my mouth.

                “Yeah, I mean, I’m pretty sure.” We’re both getting a little drowsy so we take the party up to Scott’s room. Scott and I have shared his bed at sleepovers since we met. Our moms piled us in the blankets and tucked us in tight next to each other. We’d use each other as pillows and wake up early to watch cartoons before school. We’re grown now, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t still comforted by it.

                “Are you warm enough?” Scott asks. We’re side by side and I’m in the middle, he’s on the left side.

                “Mhm,” I say and pull the quilt up to my face. Scott reaches over me to turn off the lamp and settles down into the sheets.

                “Goodnight, Stiles.” I feel his hand rest on my arm; something he did as a kid when he would wake up with nightmares.

                “Night, Buddy.”

 

                I wake up in the morning to the light of the sun heating up my face. Scott’s breathing quietly beside me, asleep and turned over on his side. He looks so soft when he’s resting. There are no traces of an alpha status or any werewolf aggression. He’s just gentle Scott. He took a lot of the blankets during the night but I didn’t mind. I get too warm without the windows open anyway. Getting out of bed, I plug my phone in by his desk to charge it for the day. It’s only six in the morning and I’ll wake Scott up in a half hour to get ready for school.

                I eat a bowl of cereal and text Lydia ** _: Lunch today?_**

                It’s a while until she replies, but when she does, it’s worth it. **_Depends. Dinner too?_**

****

(Lydia’s POV)

 

                I start my day with a hot shower. Switching up my normal body wash, I throw away the perfume-y smell that I got on bargain at Bath and Body Works to a honey-suckle and orange smell. It’s a lot lighter and goes a little better with my strawberry conditioner. When I get out, I wrap myself in a soft white towel that comes to my mid-thigh. My hair air dries while I do my makeup. I brush on my foundation, groom my eyebrows and put on some eye shadow, then blush. I finish with a pink lipstick and blot with a paper towel.

                Two braided pigtails are pinned on top of my head, overlapping each other at the top and creating a crown of weaved orange silk.

                A read floral top Kira lent me is laid out with a black pleated skirt. I get dressed in them and wait to put my taupe booties on at the door.

My classes are tedious, as usual. I pass Kira in the halls and meet Scott for Calculus. I turn around in my seat to talk to him. “What did you and Stiles do last night?”

                “Watched some TV. What did you do?” I decided to stay home last night; take time for myself. I brought both my parents dinner at work and then went home to take a hot bath with of course, no bubbles. I wanted them as a kid until my mom told me they are ‘bad for my girl parts.’ It’s almost worth the sacrifice.

                “Same.”

                “He said you guys are having dinner tonight? His house?” Scott leans down to whisper when our teacher walks in.

                “No. I’m taking him out. And I expect you to keep that to yourself.” Scott gives a quiet ‘oh’ and slides back in his seat. He zips his lips.

                I take notes, trying to remove my mind from Stiles. But I think about those pants he wears. The grey ones that always grace his body on Wednesdays specifically. They hug him like a glove.

                By the end of class I’m focusing on the tile floor. There are at least 200 speckles in each of them. Mrs. French’s voice is droning on until it all just sounds like one noise, taking a backseat to the buzzing that now resonates in my skull.                

                Cheering. Yelling. They’re quiet at first but then they grow louder. There it is again: the sound of something cutting through the air and the “ _swish swish._ ” Tapping, buzzing. I clamp my hands over my ears, digging my earrings into my skin with the pressure.

                “Lydia?” **A warm hand on my shoulder**. I open my eyes. Scott.

                “I’m fine.” I gather my books. It’s not the first time this has happened.

 

                I pull a chair out at our table. Jackson sat here once along with Danny, Stiles, Scott, Allison, and I. Our first double date was planned here. It was the same night I witnessed Allison flip out of her bedroom window. Gymnastics. I was sure she could’ve done anything. I’d let Jackson help me bowl, even knowing I could get a strike on my own. That was when I played stupid. I wrinkle my nose in disgust at myself. Ha. _Stupid._ I spit at it in my mind _. Please_.

                A ‘plop’ sound comes from the chair in front of me across the table. A very orange-clad Stiles pops a straw into a juice box. Orange and yellow plaid over an orange “Ride more cowboys” t-shirt does not look so great. “Happy lunch!” He claims he’s starving by this time even though he eats breakfast five minutes before he leaves his house. I used to consider the way he eats to be disgusting but now I’m a little charmed by it. I stare at him over my fruit salad and try to remember him without his spikey hair. I never got to run my hand over that buzz cut.

                “So where are we going tonight?” He asks around a chicken strip. I bite the inside of my bottom lip and widen my eyes. “Scott spilled. “ Stiles shrugs. Well, I guess the plan isn’t totally ruined. At least he doesn’t know exactly where we’re going. “Dress code?”

                “Less orange.”

 

                I hop into the bathroom at the end of the school day to fix my makeup. There’s a pocket lipstick in my purse I’ve been waiting to use. Spotlight Red. It matches my top well. Stiles is waiting for me in my car. I’ll take him to school in the morning so he can retrieve his jeep.

                When I open my car door, I find him nosing through my glove box. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask calmly. There’s nothing in there I want to hide; I’m just curious about what he’s looking for. He jumps, startled.

                “Um…just making sure you have your registration and insurance papers, you know, Sheriff’s son, bad habit,” he rambles.

                “Whatever.” We’re both strapped into the car. Stiles’ hand hovers between the radio knob and my skirt. Finally, it settles on my thigh, just above my knee. Every time I hope he doesn’t notice the wrinkled scar on my knee. I got it from playing tag at recess in third grade. I tripped over a boy’s foot and he never apologized: Scott McCall.

               

                I stop at Stiles’ house so he can get changed. He comes out in dark jeans and a white button up dress shirt. The only other time I’ve seen him like this was when he took me to the winter formal.  We listen to the quiet radio for the drive **. _“Beacon County is expecting severe thunderstorms over the weekend. Our trees have been getting dryer than a desert lately so do a little rain dance to this next song.”_** The radio personality settles down behind the scenes into an upbeat song. It’s not new of course, they never are. Beacon’s most popular radio station plays the same five hits, just like every other station. The people just like TonyTNT in the evening.

                The road takes us farther into the county, out of our town of Beacon Hills. Stores and restaurants become plentiful when the heavy lighting comes back, pulling us off the highway and into the small shopping town of Summerton. I turn on a side street, passing two cafes and an independent bookstore. Our destination waits at the end of the road.

                White patio tables outside of Henry’s open up the walkway for us. Each spindled chair is sporting a well-dressed diner. Moon lights are strung along the still-budding trees framing French doors. “Wow,” Stiles says, his eyes opening wider, his face tilting up to gawk at the wicker canopy above the seating area. God he looks good like that; neck exposed, stubble covering the area.

                We’re seated at a table near the back where a painting of a cherry blossom tree climbs the brick wall of the building. Other customers surround us, chatting quietly and eating together around the candle that sits in the center of each table. The small white candle floats in pink dyed water filling a crystal jar. The sun is almost down by this time and the atmosphere is warm, even with the chilled breeze that creeps among the canopy of lights. Our waitress hands us our menus. She’s gentle looking: light brown hair tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck with simple makeup, not without the cat eye. “My name is Annie. Can I start you out with waters?”

                “That’d be great,” I say. I want to be rude to her, but I can’t. She’s nice but she’s _pretty_. I don’t usually have any issues with my confidence, knowing I’m being looked at when I enter a room. But Stiles is eye level with her and she’s **_pretty._**

                “Wow, Lyds. This is awesome. Do you come here a lot?”

                “My dad used to bring me here once a month. I don’t know, I was really young. I kind of expected a lot then…” My dad and I would get dressed to the nines and go on daddy-daughter dates on a weekend he didn’t have to work. Those don’t happen anymore.

 

                Stiles and I eat our food in silence for a while, just enjoying the quiet. The food at Henry’s has no set dishes. They range from Italian to Mexican to basic American. I use my fork and spoon to twist Alfredo into a doughnut shape. I’ve gotten this dish for as long as I can remember. I see Stiles eyeing it.

                “Do you want to try it?”

                “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Stiles raises one curved eyebrow. My eyes squint, trying to figure him out. “We gotta do the Lady and The Tramp thing.” He puts his hands up and beckons me with his eyes.

                “Fine.” Stiles lifts a noodle with my fork and puts one end of the noodle in his mouth. He’s careful to hold it delicately between his lips to not break it. It’d almost be sexy if it weren’t for the sauce sticking to his chin. I look around, embarrassed that someone might be watching us, or watching me watch Stiles put things in his mouth.

                I take the other end and we begin whatever this is trying to be. It’s not romantic in the least. Alfredo sauce is dripping on the table and I’m pretty sure if Annie saw us doing this she’d ask us to “please refrain from doing that.” I’m eating my lipstick and I’m hunched over the table, but its fun. Our faces are getting close and even though we’re messy, I want to get closer. He pulls back a little, causing the pasta to break in the middle. Does he not want to kiss me? I try not to let it get to me.

                We finish eating about a half hour later and we’ve cleaned up our mess. Driving back to Beacon Hills, it’s gotten quite late and his hand is on my leg again. Right now, we’re in limbo. Was this a date or a just-for-fun-thing? I pull into the Stilinski driveway. I get out of the car here out of habit and walk him to the door. Stiles stands, his back pressed against the front door. “I had a lovely night, Miss. Martin.” He smiles down at me; I’m close to him now. From where I am, I can see the stubble again. I just want to-

                “So did I.” Stiles’ hands slide on my neck and beneath my braided hair.

                **Slowly:** the way it happens. **Soft and rugged:** how it feels. **Heavenly:** the way it tastes.

               

                _A real kiss._


	7. To Greenberg

(Stiles’ POV) 

 

Inside the school, we’re surrounded by maroon and white. Whether we’re wearing it or rubbing elbows with it, we’re covered. Coming into the gym, I’m pressed up against other students, breathing their air and fighting for an open space. Beacon Hills High School may just be over populated. In the areas between students heads, puffs of cold unbreathed air tickles my face. The air conditioner is on even though it’s quite comfortable outside. I’m holding onto Lydia and Scott. Kira is sheltered under Scott’s chest, bending in on herself away from the faceless students that coat the walls. My grip is on Scott’s hoodie. The extra fabric at the waist is wrapped around my fingers, pulling it tight to Scott’s torso. Lydia is under my arm, her thumb hooked in the belt ring of my pants. The annual first game pep-rally. 

I’d been terrified to ask her to wear my jersey. It’s a boyfriend-thing-to-do, Kira was wearing Scott’s, it’s almost a way of claiming each other and it freaks me out that it might freak her out. But I didn’t have to ask her.  “Stiles. The pep-rally is this Friday…and I don’t really have anything to wear.” She slides the hangers in my closet along the rod, looking for something in particular. “How about this?” She holds my lacrosse jersey in front of her body, modeling it in a sexier way than I thought possible. 

“You’d look great in it.” I squeeze my lips together a little bit and try to fight the smile. Without warning she pulls her blouse over her head to try on the jersey. I try not to overreact like throw her onto my bed or roll around on the floor like an idiot so I just take a peek at her in the corner of my eye. She takes it off and folds it up gently, tucking it into her bag to take home. 

The gym opens up into sleek hardwood on the floors, the walls covered in banners and streamers, games designated in the corner of the giant room. “Up there?” Scott asks and points to an open spot at the top of a section of bleachers. We all hold onto each other to get to the top. I’m concerned about Lydia’s heels slipping on the polished seats, but she’s very good at walking in them. She helps me when I tilt back and forth trying to climb the bleachers. Kira pulls Scott around everyone, directing our whole line between students. He holds her hand, I hold Scott’s and Lydia holds mine. 

Before long, the real music starts. The music that gets the crowd stomping their feet, making dust fly up into the air. We don’t have cheerleaders for Lacrosse, so the teachers have the students begin with the games. Mr. Yukimura, embarrassingly enough, volunteers Kira for the first one and Scott goes with her in an attempt to ease her anxiety. They’re competing against each other. Kira on one end, Scott on the other, get on their hands and knees in front of rolls of toilet paper. Lydia’s mother speaks the rules into the microphone, “you’ll push the rolls across the gym with your noses. The winner gets…uh…well we didn’t really-”

“The winner gets to not run suicides before the game!” Coach cups his hands over his mouth and yells. “I’m talking to you, McCall!” They start crawling along, pushing the roll until they’re tripping over it’s paper. The crowd is cheering and I don’t know who to root for but…I kind of want to see an Alpha get shown who’s boss. 

“Go Kira!” Lydia and I hoot and holler at them racing across the gym on their faces. “God, I wish Allison could see Scott now.” She lets out a breathy laugh but her smile falters. It comes back when Kira pushes the roll home to Scott’s previous end of the gym. She gets up and then so does Scott. 

“Take that, McCall!” She yells in his face. Coach claps and holds Kira’s arm up in victory. 

“And you all have to suffer in her place!” Coach laughs at the other Lacrosse players and points at me, picking me out of the crowd. “I’m watching you, Stilinski! Get down here! Its-” He grabs the microphone, “it’s you against me, buddy!” He sticks his bottom teeth out and puffs his chest, breathing hard and stalking the gym like the Hulk. I can’t say I’m intimidated. “I hope you brought your “A” game, Stilinski. Or should I say…your donut game,” he grumbles. 

“On the floor, boys.” Mrs. Martin orders us. “Hands behind your backs. You have two minutes.” Three powdered donuts sit on a plate in front of me. 

“What do you get if you win, Coach?” I look up from my position on the ground. 

“The satisfaction of winning.” There’s fire in his eyes. This must be  his game.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve practiced this.” He blows his own whistle and goes at it. Strange grumbling sounds come from in front of me when I dig in. The powder is getting in my eyes but I hear Lydia yelling from the stands and Scott’s footsteps. “I can’t do it Scott. This is on an empty stomach,” I gag. 

“I’ve seen you eat four cheeseburgers and an entire family bag of chip. Yes you can.” He bends down to my level. 

The powder is coating my tongue. Coach has one donut to go. “I can’t. I really can’t.” 

“You know what will happen if you don’t.” Washing the protective cups. Washing the protective cups will happen. I pull myself together. Why couldn’t they have been chocolate sprinkle? Years pass before I roll over onto my back. 

“Stiles wins!” Mrs. Martin’s voice booms into the microphone. 

“Oh…oh God…” I breathe heavily and wipe the white powder from my face. Scott rolls me over and claps me on the back. 

“Rematch! I demand it!” Coach stands on shaky legs. 

“Maybe after you sanitize the cups, big guy.” Scott hands Coach a bottle of water. 

After the basketball team and other clubs do their speeches, Coach brings the lacrosse team down onto the gym floor. “I know I mess with you guys a little…or a lot. But that doesn’t mean I don’t…just…don’t get your asses kicked tonight. Your parents come to me when you get your skulls dented and I don’t have the capacity for that.” He smacks Greenberg on the back a bit too hard. “We drink to…to well uh…Greenberg I guess,” Coach’s enthusiasm dies down at the mention of him. Each player chugs a cup of lime Gatorade, Coach slams it down and takes shots of the left-over servings. He really puts the pep in pep-rally. Or the psycho in psycho. 

 

Students file out, drunk on excitement for the game. I feel a warm hand touch my wrist and grab. I’m pulled around the now empty seats and behind the metal bars of the bleachers. Lydia’s breath is hot on my neck and I lean down to bring it closer. “Good luck tonight…” 

“You’ll…” I swallow, “You’ll be there?” 

“Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I be there to cheer my…my friends on at their first game?” I ignore her stutter on words. “I guess I’ll have to give this back then.” She gestures to the jersey cloaking her body. It looks perfect. 

“You can have it back after.” She nods, stepping onto my Converse-clad toes. Her mouth pulls my bottom lip into a warm embrace. Our noses touch, both sets of hands tugging on the bottom of the jersey. 

“Hey guys, I found…soda…” Kira rounds the corner and we pull apart. “There’s no Coke so it’s not that important I’ll leave sorry wow.” She takes a sip of the probably-Pepsi and spins on her heels away from us. 


	8. High Beams

(Lydia’s POV)

                Kira calls me not ten minutes after I get home. “Lydia…”She says nervously, “I’m sorry I reacted like that. I just…thought you might have told me. I know you might not trust me yet…”

                “Kira,” I interrupt her. “Of course I trust you. You’re,” it’s not replacing Allison, I think to myself. “You’re my best friend.”

                It’s only a few seconds later when she speaks. “You’re mine, too.” She breathes a small laugh. “But…why didn’t you tell me about you and Stiles when I asked?”

                “I didn’t really know what to tell you. I mean, I’m not even sure what Stiles and I are.” As soon as I finish speaking, my phone bleeps with a text. It’s from Stiles **: _I’m sort of lonely. Company? I don’t bite_** _._ Another comes in **: _Or do I?_** I smile. “Hey Kira, there’s a Stiles emergency.” She doesn’t get it at first but then she giggles and says her goodbye.

                I’m not totally sure this is a booty-call, but a girl can dream. I text back: **_Got coffee? Really tired._** I get one back immediately: **_Drink coffee, do good, baby._** He texts a picture of him wearing his shirt with the same quote on it. **_Cute, Stiles_** , I message back. I pack a bag of clothes for tomorrow. I’ll go to the game with him and then go to Derek’s along with Scott and Kira. We spend the night there after long weeks or practices for the boys. Scott thought it would help us heal not just as a pack, but as a family. Derek rarely joins as he’s out with Braeden a lot. We’re all happy for him and we know he really likes her even though he doesn’t think he shows it. I find myself looking forward to these pack sleepovers more than a lot of things. We order take out, watch movies and for the time, feel like normal teenagers.

                I get to Stiles’ an hour before we have to leave for the game. At first he holds me arm’s length apart but then he brings me closer, feeling like a stronger, more masculine Stiles and asks “can I kiss you?” Like a real kiss? Like last time?

                “Yes,” I breathe lighter than I thought I would, all because his nose slides across mine. His long fingers hold my face, hold the back of my neck and the smooth moan he makes when our mouths connect…oh… When he bites my bottom lip I just…I grab his hips…

                (Stiles’ POV)

                This was all I ever truly wanted from Lydia Martin. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to show her how wonder she is. And kissing her like this…it’s perfect. Its a little pocket in the world that lets us just be here. The sounds of our kisses, her breath, it all feels like I’m drunk. I hear her unbuckle my belt and my heart leaps but I know it doesn’t feel right. “Lydia, I just want to kiss you right now.” I pull her face to mine again.

                “We only have an hour until we have to leave…” I know she can’t _just_ kiss me, not like this. This whole thing was just supposed to be for a sex buddy, a distraction. I can’t expect her to want what I want. She unbuttons my pants.

                “I don’t want to do this,” I say. She backs off of me.

                “Sorry.” She swallows and I go to her at the bed. She’s starting to cry. “I don’t want to be bad for you, Stiles.”

                “You’re not, Lydia. You’re so so good for me.”

                “I _want_ to just kiss you, Stiles. I want it to be that easy. But...” I hold her. “None of them liked me like you like me.” Yeah, like I _like_ her.

                I try to change the subject. “Hey, you wanted coffee, right? There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen.” We hold hands down the stairs. This is me: Stiles Stilinski: boy who lets girl use him because he knows she needs it, because he’s helplessly in love her.

                I grab my dad’s peppermint coffee flavoring out the fridge and pour some in both cups. “This is good,” she says, smelling the hot steam that comes from the drink. While I sip mine, I think about how she would look in glasses, how she used to wear them in middle school until she got contacts and became _the_ Lydia Martin. I think about the thin square frames that I spotted on her bedside table a year ago. To imagine Lydia with her hair up in a mess, no makeup, a big t-shirt and shorts is to imagine a look into a secret paradise; to look through Lydia, under it all. “Are you going to play well tonight? Or are you going to suck?” I shake my head and laugh at her.

                “That depends on what kind of threat Coach makes.”

(Lydia’s POV)

                “Stilinski! I swear on my grandmother’s grave if you do **anything** to screw up this game, I will give Jared a high dosage of Ipecac and make you sit next to him on the bus to the next track meet and every single one after that!” The boys start on the ref’s whistle, Stiles running alongside Scott. Scott whips the ball to Stiles and he takes off faster than I’ve ever seen him run. He ducks underneath the swings of the opposing team. The ball is passed to Danny and Kira backs him up, knocking into another player, sending him flying. I hear the _whoosh_ from earlier and my throat tenses up.

                “Lydia!” I hear it inside my head, an unidentifiable voice. My cheeks are pulling, every muscle in my face strains as I open my mouth and scream. It’s shriller than it’s ever been, more echoed and layered than it used to be. It’s a warning. When I breathe in I see Scott and Kira stop on the field, I hear coach yelling at them to pay attention. No one but the supernatural can hear my scream on the Banshee wavelength, so the game goes on. When they pause, Stiles notices and looks at me. Couldn’t this Banshee thing have come with visions? I can’t protect anyone without knowing the facts.

                “What are you doing, McCall?! Yukimura, get moving!” They listen to Coach. I know they can protect themselves. Injuries happen on a lacrosse field, but do deaths? They’re wearing helmets and body armor, they have to be safe. I’m concerned about Danny, and the other players but not as much as I am for my pack. Kira and Scott would heal fine, but Stiles…I can’t stop the game, not when he’s playing this well. I watch him closely, I watch them all. Stiles gets hit in the chest and knocked down by two opposing players but Scott is there immediately to pull him from the ground. He holds him by the waist until he’s sure he’s stable and they continue. I swallow. False alarm?

                When the game ends, it starts to rain lightly. I follow the boys into the locker room, not caring if I see their naughty parts or get in trouble with Coach. I immediately go over to Stiles, checking his arms, his sides, his whole body for scratches and marks. “I’m fine, Lydia. What was that out there?”

                “I don’t know, something probably happened somewhere else. I’m still late on these things.” I breathe out, tired of costing people their lives.

                “Do you still want to go to Derek’s tonight?” He asks. I nod, Kira’s already waiting for me at her car. When I scream like that, too late for someone, I think of how too late I was for Allison. The way it carried through the tunnels, I hope she at least heard me, at least knew I knew about her…

                The guys in the locker room are looking at me, waiting for me to leave for them to shower. I get out of their way and meet Kira in the parking lot. We get a drink at the concession stand and chat with Melissa before we see Scott take off on his dirt bike. “I hate seeing him on that thing,” Melissa shakes her head. Even though her son is a self-healing werewolf, she still worries about him as any normal mother would. Stiles drives out after him, sending a wave our way. Other cars are starting to leave so we wait until traffic evens out and the exits aren’t too jammed.

                Kira and I start on the back road to Derek’s apartment building, her tires sliding a bit on the rain water that collects in the dips of the blacktop. “Man, I knew they were calling for thunderstorms but I didn’t know it’d be this foggy. Kira switches to her low beams and flips the wipers on. “Come on, jerk.” She mumbles when high beams are being shot directly into the windshield. The yellow light is blinding and Kira’s getting more irritated by the minute, her eyes turning an orange-red. “I can’t stand people like this. Who gave them a license to drive?” We creep up on the driver, seeming as though we’re the only ones actually moving. “Are they just sitting there?” We squint and crane our necks to inspect as we approach. The one big light is suddenly split into two lights, one on top of the other when the fog clears. A blue Jeep lays on its side, glass littering the road, its wipers still flipping back and forth. “Oh God…” Kira clenches the steering wheel. “Oh God!” She pulls her cell phone out. My blood freezes in my hands and feet.

                All within the same second I’m falling from the car, running across the broken glass and prying the back window open. “Stiles!”


	9. Because

(Lydia’s POV)

 

                A cut on my forehead drips blood into my vision. Smearing my mascara along with it, I wipe my hand across my face, still calling for him. Things from the backseat are in my way as I pry the jeep to bits. A few zip-up jackets, some packs of crackers and his backpack filled with books hang from the seats, and from metal that pierces the cab. I reach my arms through the junk, clenching my fingers and trying to slip my body through the back window. Broken glass rips the fabric of my clothes and jags my skin, wedging itself in places between my ribs. I feel his hair on my fingertips; some smooth and some with gelled bits. I push my body in further and yell when the plastic holding the windows in snaps and punctures my hip. “Stiles, hey.” I grab at the parts of his shirt I can reach. The rest of my body squeezes through the small window and I crumble on the bedside door in a pile of myself. The glass cracks more when I get to my feet to stand. His body is suspended from his seatbelt. I don’t want to move him in case I would make things worse, but I hold his face. “Hey, hey,” I breathe. The road outside is lit by the oncoming ambulance. “I’m gonna stay with you,” I tell him, “I’m gonna stay.”

                The entrance I made is being ripped apart by gloved hands and tools. “Can you get out?” A voice yells over the sound of screaming metal.

                “Yes!” I call back. Another person is removing the broken glass from the front window and placing an oxygen mask on Stiles’ face while I put my feet in the back of the jeep again.

                “Lydia!” I hear Kira outside.

                “I’m coming with you…this isn’t me leaving,” I say in his ear before I let go.

                “Are you injured?” The man from the back asks me. His badge says his name is Ray. Before I answer he sees the blood leaking onto my top. “We’ll get you cleaned up.” He directs me to the back of the ambulance when a woman and two other men wheel the bed up to the vehicle with Stiles on it. I see puffs of breath condensate the mask on his mouth and I breathe with him.

                Kira pulls up alongside us. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. Scott’s on his way.” The pull Stiles into the back and I grab his hand as soon as he’s secure.

                “See, I’m here,” I tell him. Ray types on the laptop attached to the wall of the ambulance.

                “Miss,” he looks to me and back at the screen. I nod. “You weren’t in the accident, why did you climb in there? I’m sorry but… you couldn’t have done much for him. You put yourself in danger.” I bite my lip and pull my eyes away from Stiles’ mask to look at Ray.

                “Because I love him,” I say, and it feels strange, so I say it again. “I love him.” I tell it to Stiles, even though he can’t hear me.

               

                It’s a blast of cold air on my cuts when the doors are opened by Melissa. “Dr. Dunbar has him, Lydia. You’re with me.” The next thing to hit my body are her arms wrapping my shoulders in a blanket. “He’s a great doctor,” she tells me. “He knows Stiles is a big priority.” Melissa’s words are comforting, but I just want to see Stiles.

                “He doesn’t like hospitals,” I say to Melissa. I remember him telling me one night, in the dark, that he hates getting shots. At that moment I knew I never wanted anyone to push another needle into his skin. I can at least be there to hold his hand. “You’ve always been his doctor, he doesn’t know Dr. Dunbar. When he wakes up-“ _If_ he wakes up.

                “He’s a great doctor,” she says again. Melissa walks me past the waiting room where Scott and Kira sit in the corner. The room she shuts us in is white and quiet. “Why don’t you heal? Like Scott?” She asks calmly while she applies a salve to my stomach.

                “I don’t know,” I think about it. “I don’t really know much about…me.” Melissa may not be anything supernatural, but she has the ability to calm, to heal others. She’s quite strong in that area.

                “I’ll go check on him and get you something hot to drink.” She smooth’s my hair and for a second, I think of her as my mother. I sit, breathing deeply for the duration of time it takes her to return with a Styrofoam cup of liquid. I expect it to be coffee but when I sip it, it’s sweet. Hot chocolate. I haven’t had this since I was a kid. Something I snuck from the cabinets when I was home alone, having tea parties with my stuffed animals and getting my dresses dirty. I find a few marshmallows floating around in the chocolate drink. “He has a major concussion and a couple fractured bones, but a few nights here and he should be set to be Stiles again,” she smiles. “Well…not full Stiles. Stiles who flails everywhere he goes. He’s a bit too fragile for that.” She giggles and shakes her head knowing all too well what ‘going full Stiles’ means. “You climbed in the car with him.” Melissa looks me in the eyes. “I know what that means. I’m happy about it. And proud of you.” These are things I wish I could hear my mother say. I know she thinks them. My parents just aren’t people to tell me how they feel.

                “Scott and Kira wanted to wait for you to visit him. They’re outside,” she smiles. “I’ll order you a meal.” She knows I’ll be staying. Not because of my injuries, but because I will wait for him to wake up.

                “Hey,” Scott pulls me into him. “He’s okay. “He speaks in my ear but I know he’s mostly telling it to himself. “He’s okay.” I wrap my hand around the cold handle and the door to his room clicks open. Kira stands beside the bed while Scott and I sit with him. In a second, Scott grabs Stiles’ hand, sucking black ink into his veins from Stiles’. “Feel a little better, buddy?” Scott pushes strands of hair out of Stiles’ face. I see them as children for a minute, comforting each other so easily; a practiced thing.

                After a while of sitting we all file out to let the nurses tend to Stiles. Melissa puts a hand on my shoulder. “I told them you’ll be staying the night. There’s a hot bowl of soup in your room.”

               

In the middle of the night I pad barefoot down the hallway. This probably isn’t the cleanest method of navigating a hospital, but I forgot to tell Kira to get my slippers. The door to Stiles’ room is solid under the push of my hand. I shut it behind me and sit beside him in the darkness. This feels more intimate, more alone-with-Stiles than anything else had. I don’t talk to him, I just stay put. The sound of his heart, my heart, fills the room with the heaviness of it all. The monitor beside him hitches. “I knew you wouldn’t leave,” he speaks.


	10. VERY IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE:UPDATES

IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE! I really do apologize for not updating but so many things have been keeping me from posting more chapters of this story. My computer totally screwed me over and I haven’t been able to type any of my writing for months until I finally got a new one. Also, my dad was diagnosed with cancer in February and I haven’t been able to concentrate on writing anything or updating this story or any of my others. He just got his tumor removed in surgery and is now recovering and I have a little more heart to write with. I’m sorry if this new chapter is not so awesome because I haven’t been in practice for a long time, but I hope you’ll still enjoy what’s to come. Thank you to those who are still picking up this story and continue to read it even though I’m terrible at updating. The next chapter should come in a week or two, as I am entering a few contests that keep me on deadlines. It’d be awesome if you would leave a comment and let me know if you are a new reader or if you’ve been keeping tabs on this story since I began writing it. Thank you again.

 

-Sara


	11. Scott McQuiche

(Authors Note: Thank you guys so much for your support and the sweet wishes about my dad and my family’s health, it was really nice to wake up to those in my email. Here is the new chapter. It’s full of cute moments, some sexiness [maybe a little more descriptive than before?], and a bit of a sad situation. Brought back some Allison feels for myself and I hope it does for you too. Please enjoy!)

 

(Stiles’ POV)

 

                Romps with Lydia have become things that don’t involve using the muscles around my ribs. “Does that feel okay?” She asks through a curtain of her hair.

                “Very much,” I stutter and sigh. This truly is a lost art form; Lydia’s mouth being Van Gogh. There’s magic in her lips. A low rumble shakes my voice when I say “thank you.” _Repay her repay her_. I know I probably look ridiculous; shirt pushed up, pants pushed down, slightly dewy and hair flat, but man…everything feels beautiful.

                Soon after, I return the favor over and over again. I’d like to think I’m okay at it, but I’ll leave that verdict to Lydia. “Am I getting any better at that?” I kiss her forehead where sweat beads push her bangs together.

                “More than anyone else has ever done for me.” Lydia pulls her body up and holds my face in her hands. “You’re good, Stilinski. You’re so good.” She closes her eyes as if it makes her invisible. “The way you cradle me,” she bites her lip, “I feel like I can be as loud as I want.” She chuckles.

                “I love hearing you.” I put my forehead to hers. “Lydia, I just really love you. Every little bit.” I breathe out and knot my fingers in her hair. I bite my tongue after that, not wanting to give her a speech.

                Spaces between. “I love you too.” She nods to herself. Her lips are toothpaste and salt on my tongue. “I love your mouth. God, Stiles, I love your mouth.” My eyes close and my brows pull down, inching closer to her face. We taste like each other. It’s hazy and sticky and suffocating but we just kiss this time. Her breath fills the corners of my cheeks.

                “Lydia,” I say against the corner of her mouth for which I receive a sweet “ah” sound. Our noses touch on the tips the same way our toes and fingers do beneath the quilt. Sleep comes easily when you’re a spider of legs, smooth and not, tangled and lazy with good feelings.

 

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                Sex that doesn’t happen in Coach’s office or on the south side of staircases is sex I never thought I would have with Stiles, or anyone for that matter. A warm bed, sheets washed in lavender soap, low lit and towels set out in case I would like to shower after. I will fight to be the only one to get this from him. “Do you want a massage?” He tickles the tiny hairs under my ears.

                “Of what sort?” I lean up and steal a kiss.

                “The back sort.”

                “Yes please.” Stiles flips me onto my stomach and sits on my bottom, legs on either side of me. This is the third night in a row I’ve stayed over, just ask Stiles’ hamper. He’s wearing those plain blue boxers I love so much I sneak peeks of his butt in them when he falls asleep. A pair of red panties covers my bottom half while we lay in bed. Specifically the red pair of panties that have been taken off and put back on over five times today.

                “I hope my hands aren’t too cold,” he says, almost to himself and rubs them together as if to start a fire. He presses them on my shoulder blades, fingertips reaching my neck. I could worship Stiles’ hands, his slender fingers, and the veins that run up his arms and pulse when he grips. Stiles presses on the outer edges of my spine and makes small circles. He goes down my biceps, under my chest, helping whatever headache I had leave me. His fingers slowly move up to my trapezius muscle, rubbing a knot out gently and relieving tension in my neck.

                “More sacral pressure.” I wiggle around.

                “More what?” I sigh and move my hand behind me, tapping just above my tailbone and the nape of my neck.

                “Press there with both hands.” I feel him hold my body there, connecting the ends.

                “So, I have some anatomy homework…” He mentions.

                “Yes, I’ll help you.” A kiss is pressed into a sweet spot right below my ribs where a small strawberry mark made its presence know when I was a kid. Stiles pauses for a moment and then leaves more kisses, tongue lightly following the tracks of his lips down to my lower hips. “Hmm is this turning into a full body massage?”

                He chuckles, sweet breath dusting my back, hands flipping the top of my underwear. “Maybe.” He turns me over again, pulling them all the way off. I didn’t think my body could do this more than once in a given amount of time but with Stiles, I’ll beg it to. A hot puff of air dampens the spot between my thigh and my hip bone, teasing me, making my legs tremble. I twist tufts of Stiles’ gelled hair, tugging the thickness of it at the top of his neck.

                “More,” I say lightly and rest my head on the pillow, tilting it to look him in the eyes. I don’t demand things anymore because I don’t feel I need to. Stiles gives me what need with no questions asked and I do the same for him. We are a well-oiled machine. Old boyfriends and hookups have been an annoying struggle for an orgasm. Blowjobs are for some reason expected as foreplay but ask Don’t Kiss Me After Sucking Me Off Max to go down on you once and you’re a greedy slut. I think it turns Stiles on, to be honest. The way he breathed me in, wrapped his arms around my legs, leaned his head against my thigh, and hummed when I exhaled…

                “Sorry, this isn’t a sacral hold.” I laugh and flick his forehead.

                “I really _really_ don’t mind,” I say and tuck my hair behind my ears.

                Hot breath, precise fingers, amber eyes under lowered lashes…. A throaty sigh accompanies an “oh Stiles…”

                Have I mentioned I love his hands?

 

               

My mother advised me to come home tonight, texts letting her believe I’ve been at Kira’s. “I’m hosting a party at the lake house tonight for the school board. You can tell your friends and their parents they can attend if they would like. I’d love to see Scott’s mother again, she’s a lovely woman.” Kira will already be there since Ken is our history teacher. “I know Stiles loves free food, and his father is already invited, being part of the board and all.” She smiles looking down at a guest list.

“I’ll tell them.” I consider the possibility of a little birdy leaking my secret to her, but my heart stops me. It shouldn’t be a secret. “I’ll bring Stiles as a date.” I look her in the eye.

“That will be wonderful.” My mom leans her paisley-clad hip on her desk. “Get to school, I’ll be there for my second class.”

 

I revisit the box in my closet. Spaghetti straps suspend the dress from my shoulders. It feels different to wear a thing you’ve been admiring. I hold the pearl bulb of the perfume bottle and let it spray my collarbone. Sweet Pea and Allison. My mirror catches me. “You looked so beautiful in this Ali,” I whisper and run my hand down my legs, smoothing the body of the fabric. “I miss you.” I feel my lip shake. I leave my hair down, curly and wild.

Scott notices as soon as I sit next to him in the library. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he shakes his head. “You know I…I kept the sweater that goes with that. It’s in my pillow case.” I imagine Scott pressing his face into his pillow, tears ready to let go maybe, breathing her in. I clench my jaw, hating the thought of him being sad or feeling weak. Weakness is something none of us can have anymore.

I lean my head on his arm. “Oh Scott, you should have worn it today.” Both our chests shake with chuckles and it feels amazing. I’m not wrong, Allison would have gotten a kick out of him in her cropped shirts. I may or may not have dirt on Scott trying on her lacy thongs.

Stiles knows no discretion. His lips meet mine and I don’t even want to protest. The way I want to kiss him is not appropriate for school, but when have I took that into consideration? “Hi there,” he says quietly against my lips. Scott takes a second to look away from us after we break apart, but when he does, his smile pushes up a blushed cheek. I clear my throat when I readjust myself in my chair.

“So, my mom is hosting a board party at the lake house tonight and you guys are invited. And your mother can come, too, Scott. Get her to take a day off work.”

“Ah, she’ll love that. She’ll probably wear her dancing shoes,” Scott rolls his eyes.

“Wait, your mom has dancing shoes?” Stiles talks around a granola bar bite too big for his mouth. “Yeah Melissa, get down with your bad self.” Stiles and Scott bicker back and forth about their parents knowing too many forms of dance. “My dad does this thing with his legs,” Stiles demonstrates the infamous leg move under the table as if we can see it, kicking us both in the process. “I feel like it would look better in stilettos but I don’t think he’s that dedicated.”

Kira unpacks her breakfast beside me. Chewing on an egg and bacon wrap from Eleanor’s Market, she writes in her notebook. “What are you wearing for the party tonight?”

“Probably something black. I want to crush the souls of every cheery middle-aged soccer mom in the house.” Greenberg’s voice invades our space when he pops his head out from a bookshelf and Stiles jumps in his seat.

“Holy God in heaven…Greenberg, go to class!” He sinks back into the cover of the shelves and I can almost hear him sniffing books. “His parents aren’t even on the board…” Stiles whispers.

“He’s Coach’s plus one,” Kira says and we all stare at her. “Danny was busy.” A collective “ooh” runs around our table.

We prepare to move to our first class and line up behind the basketball team filing into the gym for practice. The back way we normally use to get to the other end of the school is closed due to construction. Fresh paint covers the walls of most of the west end now, smelling like an illegal amount of chemicals to have in a public area. Two players push past Kira and I, bouncing a ball down the center of the hall and I trip over my own feet. My back slams into the sticky wall and I see Stiles’ hands reach for my arms. My stomach finds a place in my throat. My dress. Her dress.

 

(Stiles’ POV)

 

Lydia’s face breaks in two seconds. She wipes her hand behind her head and pulls it back, revealing a white paste. Her lips press together and a “no” rips a sob from her chest as she sinks to the floor. Lydia Martin falls apart like I’ve never seen her.

She curses the two players that pushed her, loud and crackly. I hold her by her shaking hands and help her into the locker room. She wasn’t hurt at all, but I know her heart wants to fall out of her chest. Students that pass us look at her and snort _. Poor Lydia Martin and her dress. It’s probably by Prada._ “They don’t know,” I say in my head, “now isn’t the time to freak out.”

Scott opens the door for us and we’re greeted by Coach. “Hey, no girls in here, you guys know that.” Coach stops himself when he sees Lydia’s red face, her hand on her stomach, trying to keep from being sick. “Sweetheart…I…McCall what…” Scott pulls him aside.

“Allison,” I see him mouth and Coach closes his eyes.

“I’ll just go to the cafeteria. The laundry room is open.” He drops his head and leaves the room after he swallows hard and gives Lydia a well-intended arm-pat. We help Lydia take the dress off and Scott digs his lacrosse bag out of his locker.

“I ruined it,” she cries. “It won’t…” It won’t smell like Allison anymore. Kira lays her head on Lydia’s shoulder, stroking her hair. Scott sucks in his lip when he lays the dress in the washing machine, dropping a tablet of soap with it. I stand Lydia up and help her into Scott’s shorts and then his jersey t-shirt. I imagine Allison has worn these too, but they’ve been washed since. There are more of Allison’s clothes in boxes at the Argent house, but this was the special dress. It was the dress Lydia loved to see her in the most. Her lips press into the collar of my shirt, trying to suppress her sobs but they shake her body without doubt. She’s being forced to let her best friend go, made to wash her away. I can’t even think about what it would be like to lose Scott. “She’s gone, Stiles.” Her voice becomes tiny, “I don’t have my best friend anymore.” Lydia’s hands tighten my shirt to my back and I hold her until she’s worn herself out.

 

I take Lydia back to her house after the dress is done being dried. Scott lets Mrs. Martin know what happened and tells her we will be missing her class second period. Lydia pulls her hair back on the drive to her house, regaining strength that was hard to see an hour ago. “She would have laughed,” she says around the air that comes through the open window. I glance at her. “She would have told those guys to get their heads out of their asses because they aren’t hats.” Lydia giggles and shakes her head. “It’s just a dress,” she says with a straight face and swallows. “It is just a dress.”

We pull into her driveway and she gets out before me. Lydia comes over to my side and kisses me through the window. “Thank you,” she whispers on my lips. She gives me a look saying “don’t wear orange to the party” and closes the front door behind her, Scott’s shorts hanging low on her hips.

 

(Lydia’s POV)

 

I open my journal to the next page and write.

 

_ Dear Ali A, _

_ I painted your dress today. It was worse than that time we made breakfast and spilled pancake batter all over it. When I saw the paint, I wanted to throw up. It felt like I wasn’t holding your hand anymore. I almost forgot how it felt to sit beside you in art class or camp with you on the reserve. Remember that time we stayed up all night when our lantern ran out of gas? It was our fault for not bringing extra flashlight batteries. I miss sleeping over in your house and having your hair in my face. I miss you hogging the blankets even though you wore shorts to bed in case it got too hot. I miss watching you with your bow and wanting to be just like you. It was like you were the warrior princess I always read about in books. You’re still that to me.  _

_ -Lydia _

 

I take a shower and blow dry my hair in silence. Then, I button up a pink blouse over a grey pencil skirt and apply my makeup afterwards. Sooner than later, the sound of an over-used Roscoe The Jeep surrounds my house and I lock the door behind me. “To the lake house!” Stiles throws his fist out the window. He’s dressed in the same clothes he wore to dinner a few weeks back, and he looks so handsome. Stiles takes my face in his hands and asks, “how are you?” Usually I scoff when people ask that question because they never really mean it and I get mad at myself for not replying the way I would like to: generally shitty. But the softness in his voice…

“I’m okay now.” When I think he’s going to kiss me, my whole body feels silk warmth.

“You’re my role model, you know that?” I breathe his soapy smell in and squeeze him harder. I didn’t know that was something I wanted to hear, but my heart jumps at it.

When we pull away he says, “I took bets on what Greenberg will actually wear, do you want in on it?”

I pull my wallet out and hand him a five dollar bill. “Bright green smoke jacket.”

“That’s what Jared guessed and he has a fifty on it. Daring little bastard.”

 

Sherriff Stilinski will be the proud new owner of $500 when he gets here. Greenberg is drinking fruit punch from a champagne glass sporting knee high socks that match his chino shorts and sunset colored tuxedo shirt. “Okay, now I understand the orange is a no-no thing.” Stiles stacks mini sandwiches on a napkin.

Scott sneaks up behind us. “Buddy, they have those quiche muffins!”

“What?!”

“Yeah!” They communicate with their eyes full of food-lust.

Kira and I sit under a balcony of white blossoms wrapped around railing spindles. “I’m pretty sure Scott said he tried those quiches at a city council meeting. How’d they get invited to that?” Kira asks.

“They didn’t,” I say, “A drunk Stiles can talk people into almost anything.” I recall the time we all needed to use the bathrooms at a club that was VIP only. _Stiles tells the security guard,_ _“I own seventeen houses on the New York boardwalk. What, no. It’s the boardwalk you see when you drive up there.” He holds his cellphone up to his ear, looking busy and thoroughly annoyed. “You wouldn’t know, now would you? You’re just security. Stilinski, yeah it’s a royal name. I invented the powder on cheese puffs.”_ Needless to say, we all relieved our bladders in luxury and drank like fishes for free.

“I won’t need to eat for years.” The boys confirm it with a double burp and plop down on the whicker couch beside Kira and I. Scott puts his feet up on Stiles’ legs.

“What’s happening in there?” Kira twists her body to look inside the windows behind us.

“Coach already tried break dancing so it’s not that,” Stiles nods with a tight mouth, trauma behind his eyes from whatever hell that must have been.

“Board games!” Kira smiles. We walk in on Melissa throwing dice on the floor.

“Mamma needs some new scrubs,” she squints her eyes and gets down, eye level with the dice. “Yes! Pennsylvania Railroad, Sherriff! Hand it over!” By the time she rolls again she lands on the Sherriff’s hotel.

“Pay up, or go straight to jail.” There’s deep satisfaction at his own joke when he laughs one big “HA!”

“Dicklinski…” Melissa mutters under her breath, handing him five fake yellow dollars.

 

Twister is something I never thought I would witness Scott, Stiles and Coach play. “It’s like a car crash,” Kira says, “it’s horrible, but I can’t look away…”

“Left hand blue!” My mother calls out after the dial lands on the spinner. Coach does not forfeit for anything. He reaches over Scott, going for his only blue option left. His face rests right on Scott’s butt.

“Ay Coach! You got my best cheek!” Scott yells into Stiles’ bellybutton, not giving up either.

“Shut it, McCall!”

“Left foot blue, Stiles!” Stiles cranes his neck to look for an open spot.

“No, buddy, no don’t do it!” Scott begs.

Stiles twitches and laughs, feeling Scott talk into his belly. “Oh god…” He says just before sneezing, causing an avalanche of arms and legs.

“Champion!” Coach yells when he picks himself off the ground. He pats Stiles on the back. “You got the cups on Monday, buddy!”

 

Bare feet on the carpet. Shirts off in the dark. Cold noses and deep kisses.

Touching without the sense of sight is the best part. It’s the heat up before the cool down.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Stiles snuggles up to me, both of us rid of clothes.

“You were my date.” I rest my head on his chest. Neither of us have the energy for anything further than a few lazy kisses and the sheer niceness of our bodies being together underneath a chilled bedspread.

“Officially?” He asks.

“Officially.”

               


	12. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello

Heya kiddos. 

So I've fallen back into this world, apparently. I will be posting a final chapter for this story by tomorrow night. If anyone is still reading this ancient piece of text... So I'll see whoever you are tomorrow. Get ready for some major Stydia. 

-S


	13. A New Frequency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So this is the final chapter of Under It All. I'm glad to be able to put this story behind me. This is the way I'd originally planned it to end even though it was a long time coming. I hope you're the happy ending type of person :) It's a very sweet chapter and I think that's how it should be. I wanted to keep it short and simple. Thank you all so much for reading and coming back to this little fic a year later. Here's to the Stydia we'll get in a few episodes (fingers crossed!!!) and more fics in the future. <3  
> -S

(Lydia’s POV) 

 

A folded up piece of paper flitters down onto my desk. I hesitate, grabbing it with a few careful fingers and flick my eyes to the right and then the left. I see him then; shy smile, fiddling his pen with clumsy fingers, sun turning the tips of his fluffy hair chocolate brown. His turn-up nose wiggles like a bunny’s when he looks down, still smirking. His hands nervously touch his face. I breathe out, having stared at him a bit too long to convince the teacher that I was paying attention. I gaze at the blackboard as long as I can before I can’t stand the suspense anymore. 

I flip open the first corner of the paper, careful not to make too much noise. When it’s fully  open, only one small sentence is revealed in the middle of the page. It was just enough. Your place or mine?  

I tear off a blank piece of the paper so I can keep the note and write my reply. Mine. I deliver the note personally, putting the teacher in the back of my mind, choosing my priorities. I lean myself towards Stiles’ desk, slipping the folded paper between his long fingers. When I look to the front of the room, Mrs. Trainor's eyes are on me but she leaves it at that.

Last time Stiles and I had passed notes, they were too sexy for class, especially when they landed in the wrong lap. Poor Scott. He’d replied politely though. Sorry, Stiles. I think you’re handsome, but we should stay best friends. And, well, I don’t think that’s physically possible, but I’m glad you like to try new things. Have a good next class, buddy. -Scott. Last time they’d all been arranged for his house. Stiles tilts his head to me,wondering but pleased. “Really?” He mouths at me. I don’t even reconsider. I want him there, in the safe space of my room, finally. I smile at him sweetly and nod. Then I gesture to the front, telling him to pay attention since he needs notes on this class much more than myself. 

After the bell rings, I sling my purse over my shoulder and gather my books, stumbling back into Stiles. He was standing perfectly close. Something about it felt reminiscent to when he had an innocent crush on me. I’d thought it entertaining then. Now I returned the fumbling, gentle but furious, wonderfully teenage feelings for him. He was still goofy about it, and I’d been flattered by that then, too. “Hey...” He stood tall before me, looking down with a crooked smile, cheeks pushed up into his eyes. I felt mine do the same. “What time do you want me to come over?” He swallows a detectable nervousness. I play with it. Crawling a few fingers up his wrist resting on the desk top, I look to the ceiling to ponder the time. “Lydia...” He chuckles. 

“After dinner at Scott’s.” Always food first. “We can carpool...” I breathe lightly when I realize that, while I was talking, he’s moved closer to me. His forehead was almost touching mine, our lips parted, nearly grazing. I give him one soft kiss. The next one lingers and I taste him. It’s nothing like kisses you see in movies. It’s incredibly vivid. Slightly salty, damp, and whispered. I inhale, noting his soapy smell. Light cologne in his hair, toothpaste, shirt left in the dryer too long. 

The last kiss brings my hands to the sides of his neck, his exposed collarbone. Our noses brush together, his cold and mine warm. I dare to step a little closer. He’s at least a foot taller than me with my short heels so I stand on my toes. Stiles cranes and curls to kiss me, almost wrapping me up just to have this function. I’d never lived in a moment the way I lived in the feeling of kissing Stiles. His sure grip on my hips, long fingers nearly touching across my lower back. 

We don’t separate even when we end our kiss. “Dammit,” I say and close my eyes tight.   
“What?” He laughs. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No! No...” I smile at him. “I just...I drove here...” The fact that I had to be alone, away from him, in my car for the fifteen minutes to Scott’s house was irritating on a new level. 

“I’ll meet you there.” Stiles pecks my cheek, a strand of my hair getting stuck on his lip and infinitely in his mouth. It tugs on my head when he notices the hair caught. “Blah gah...ahh...gaahh!” His tongue lulls out over and over as he picks at it desperately trying to free himself. “Aha!” Stiles holds the wet strand up with victory and lets it drop back down on my shoulder. 

“Thank you...so much.” Stiles cringes when I glare at him, a hint of a smile on both of our mouths. I spin on my heals and let him watch me walk away. Even at my l0cker I hear the squeaky sound of his sneakers running awkwardly down the hallway to his. 

 

“No meat. No mushrooms. Extra cheese. Extra mushrooms.” Scott pulls mini pizza bagels out of the oven. He winces when the heat of the trays leak through his mitt. 

“Wow Scott...thanks for cooking!” Kira encourages, pressuring Stiles and I to go along with it out of Scott’s sight. 

“Yeah! Mmm! Thanks!” We nod along, too enthusiastic, but Scott is convinced. He’d just customized the frozen bagels by either removing toppings or adding canned ones, but that was Scott’s best. He dumps them all onto a serving plate too big for the occasion. 

“I know it’s not a four course meal, but it’s what we had in the fridge...I don’t really do the grocery shopping. My mom knows how to get all the deals.” Melissa’s cooking skills were just as good as her son’s. Scott scoots into his chair next to Kira. He pecks her on the cheek like they’re a secret.   
“It’s great, Scott. The perfect after school snack. Don’t they say that on the commercial?” I pluck one of each from the tray. 

“Lydia, can I borrow your notes? From Trainor’s class?” Kira peeks into my bag. I dig my hand in, the other hand occupied with a pizza bagel. I splay the notes on the table in front of us to let her choose which set she’d like. Some were general, others had my thoughts in the margins about the subject, but I hid the copy with Stiles’ name written along the border. “Yes. Yes to all.” Kira scoops them up, obviously grateful. She’d missed a few of Trainor’s classes this week, and so had Scott. I remember when I see him flitting his eyes to the notes. From the notes to Kira to the notes. They were...studying. And I suspect they’ll be doing more of that when we leave. 

“You can just keep them. I have another copy.” Kira smiles at me with gorgeous bright eyes. So much different than Allison’s smile. But I was glad I’d been a source of both. 

My hand moves down my lap and across to Stiles’. I wrap my pointer finger around his pinkie and drag his palm to my exposed leg. His fingertips creep under the hem of my skirt, brushing slowly up and down at the top of my thigh. It was more sensual than sexual, though. Gentle and comforting. I rest my head on his shoulder. With my head tilted and eyes glazed over, I catch Scott looking at us. It’s curiosity but also wonder. Happiness and pride. He nods once at me, approving and full of love. A noble alpha giving a blessing. 

We finish eating and Scott and Stiles move to the living room to spread across both couches. Kira and I stick to the kitchen, making coffee and cleaning up. We knew the boys would just toss the dishes into the sink and call it clean, so for Melissa’s sake, we’d made some soapy water in the sink and began to wash. “So Scott and I...we’re,” Kira giggles to herself before continuing, “we’ve been like bunnies.” She whispers the end, completely entertained by herself. “I just...I don’t want to stop!” Kira brushes loose pieces of hair behind her ears with dripping fingers.   
“I know what you mean. I really know what you mean.” My smile flirts with my own thoughts. “Scott really loves you.” I say softly, looking at her directly,  lazily wiping the washrag over a plate. 

“Yeah...” She blushes. “I really love him too. You know, I didn’t know if...” Kira pauses as if she’s surveying what reaction I’d have to her sentence. “I didn’t know if he’d feel the way he did with Allison, with me.” Kira’s eyes panic a little and she backtracks. “I mean I know it’s not the same, like I’m not trying to replace her, I just-” 

“Kira!” I laugh and pat her arm. “I understand. When Scott loves, Scott loves. Allison, you, all of us. It’s the same.” I flick water at her to dispel her nervousness and it seems to work. 

“Did you know that if I used my power right now you’d be fried like a chip.” She looks at both of our hands submerged in the water. 

“Kira, these are the things we need to talk about. You can’t just say something like that.” 

 

Stiles and I venture outside when Kira and Scott showed signs of restlessness and glances to the staircase. We had similar thoughts on our mind. Stiles couldn’t resist asking, “hey, you wanna, I don’t know...get out of here?” He winks to accompany the cheesiness. 

“Put your seatbelt on, Casanova.” I abstain from him for the duration of the ride to my house. I’d build it up, each need to touch, to stare, to even just glimpse the vein in his neck. His skin must be so warm underneath his shirt... “I forget if my room is cleaned up or not.” I twist the ends of my hair, suddenly nervous and trying to make small talk. 

“Lyds, when has my room ever been clean when you came over?” Stiles grabs my hand and pulls it to his side. My palms are clammy I’m sure but he just rubs his thumb back and forth on my knuckles. “I’m...I’m really happy you invited me.” He glances over, eyes innocent. We pull into the driveway, bouncing along in his jeep with every bump. The cab of the car is so silent. Every brush of our clothes against the seats or breaths in and out are amplified, explicit. I slide over, shoes getting caught on the pulled up carpet of the floor, and awkwardly lean into to him. Stiles holds my eyes, the amber of his iris’ glassy, lashes low. His lips curve up, a suggestion of a smile. Stiles himself was a suggestion of a lot of things. 

I press a cautious kiss on the side of his mouth, his lips gently and barely offering themselves. One of his hands moves up my arm and through my hair hanging down between us. The skin of my chest seems to tighten with goosebumps when his fingers reach my jaw line, asking to touch, asking to caress my face. I tilt my head into his hand and let him pull my mouth to his. The kiss is full. Filling, satisfying, fire starting. Stiles pulls his lips away, the tip of my tongue savoring his. Our faces nuzzle together for a long second but when that fraction of time ends, we force ourselves to get out of opposite doors. 

When I unlock the front door, Stiles walks close to me in the dark. I lead him upstairs and around the corner to my room. “It’s nice and warm up here!” He’s chipper and normal and I love him for it. “Where’s your light switch? Ah!” It flicks on beside my ear and we’re flooded with soft white light. I leave him for a second to turn on the bedside lamps and return, flicking off the ceiling light. “Mood lighting? Lydia Martin...” 

“Shut up, Stiles.” I flick his arm and gesture for him to come into the room further. He remains in the doorway for another moment before taking a few small strides my way. I sit on my bed to keep myself still and stick with my invitation for him to invade the room. To touch things, to have opinions on them, to bring his energy into the room. He doesn’t pluck any strings and my shoulders relax.   
“Wow...I’ve never seen this picture.” Stiles picks up a framed photo of Allison and I, arms draped over each other, blowing kisses at the camera. I was different then. Allison was safe and I was naïve. Her hair had been long and curly when the photo was taken, and I had still worn bubblegum pink lip gloss. Jackson had liked how it made my lips look. 

“I think Scott has a copy somewhere.” I pipe up from my spot on the bed. Stiles puts the frame down carefully. He moves around the room, taking in the elements of it. Smiling at some things and being puzzled by others. 

I’m suddenly very aware of him. His tallness, his energy, the way he took air from the room. He was multidimensional. 

There was a boy in my room. A Stiles. 

“Hey you.” He takes a step my way, shy. Stiles reaches an arm out and I take his hand. I encourage him to come my way, to sit with me. And when he does I migrate to his lap. I fit against him. Stiles wraps his hands around my back like he had in the classroom. 

“Stiles...” I press into him, pining for him, needy and light. 

“I love you too.” 

We nurture each other in the darkness. Holding and giving and taking. The intensity transforms into sleepiness. Lazy rocking, attentive kisses, asking and answering. I’m safe beneath him. I whisper to him, hoping to reach places my hands cannot. “I’m so happy you’re here.” My fingers tremble slightly between the hairs at the back of his head, all of my skin ultra-sensitive. “Stiles...” My words turn to heartbreaking and lovely gasping breaths.   
The silhouette of the curve of Stiles’ back is soft like the light. I wish to paint him into a picture, write a song about it, to keep him. So I trail my fingers along his face, into his hair, and press my dampened lips to his. I memorize the warmth and swell of it all. The buzzing. A new frequency. And I add Stiles to my safe space.


End file.
